


minutes working overtime (is it real now?)

by greekdemigod



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: (Domestic) Fluff, Canon Fix-It, F/F, Post-3x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekdemigod/pseuds/greekdemigod
Summary: One day she wakes up next to the love of her life and the happily ever after no longer feels like she's still dreaming.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Harley (the lovely @femslashhoe on twitter), for inadvertently making this happen (and for being wonderful).
> 
> This is a little disjointed, but I wanted to write all these fluffy instances without overloading it all into one single day, so have some domestic Roisa getting settled into their life together.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**DAY ONE**

* * *

Her whole life fits in one cardboard box. Luisa stares at it, lips pulled into a taut line, because it’s taunting her. Frankly, she always thought she lived her life in such a way that if she ever died, pieces of her existence would crop up even years later, inexplicably.

She has almost died enough times that they were never fully hypothetical thoughts, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment.

Because she is glaring at how little personal belongings she has: degrees, the few things she has left of her parents, a picture of her nieces and nephew, her worn copy of  _Cien Sonetos de Amor_ , and an old iPod that went through college and all her weird music phases with her.

She wouldn’t be surprised if there is still some  _My Chemical Romance_ on there.

“Stop frowning, babe,” Rose murmurs from behind her and wraps an arm briefly around Luisa’s waist so she can lean in and press a kiss against the back of her shoulder. “And come help me with this other stuff.”

Luisa takes a moment to shove all the negative energy out of her. Her shaman has taught her to visualize it like throwing things out of a window, which is something she has always enjoyed doing. She throws out the idea that the amount of her material possessions should represent how big and full her life is. She throws out that her box should make her feel bad.

With a new, bright smile she steps outside—and is immediately rewarded with the beauty of life, and the beauty of  _San Francisco_. It’s different from Miami in all the ways that it has to be for them both to have a fresh start.

Their house is at the head of a cul-de-sac, hidden a little by bushes, but from where she’s standing she can see other houses, filled with neighbors she’ll hopefully get to meet soon. They’re not actually hiding. This is not a submarine at the bottom of the ocean.

They’re just in a place where people don’t know them, where they’ll get to be whichever version of Luisa & Rose they want to be.

Luisa wants them to be the version that gets to be happy.

She looks at the moving van; the boxes precariously stacked with their clothes and Rose’s more sizeable book collection, their bed the single item of furniture they’ve already bought. And she can no longer try to convince herself that she is fantasizing again—for once, things are working out for her.

Leaving her old life and starting over should be more difficult than this, because with her hand in Rose’s it’s the easiest thing she has ever done.

* * *

**DAY TWO**

* * *

When she wakes up it takes several minutes for her thoughts to filter back into her mind. There’s an unfamiliar sight greeting her from behind curtainless double windows and the room is bare and chilly all around her.

But it comes back to her eventually: this is  _their_ room. They just haven’t gotten around to make it reflect that two awesome women now live in it.

Luisa makes a mental note that they should get some balls-off-the-walls, crazy color to splash all over their room, as far away from Marbella-blue as they can get, and pushes off the bed to slide in her socks across the floorboards.

Rose is standing in the kitchen, the space as bare as the rest of their house, sipping coffee from a take-out cup and looking out the window. Luisa pads over to her and wraps her arms around her girlfriend, nuzzles her face against the back of Rose’s T-shirt. “You went out. To get coffee.”

“Hm, I did. I brought you donuts.” Rose turns around to face her, a smile illuminating her features. She can look terrifying—there is something about how clear her blue eyes are that is deceptive, because there is such darkness lurking behind. But she can also look radiant, beautiful.

Luisa loves her so much when she’s like this. She also really loves donuts.

“Powdered sugar?”

“I think we should get off that diet.” Rose puts her cup aside so she can drape her arms around Luisa’s shoulders and curl a strand of hair around her finger while smiling down at her. “Sometimes we’ll have breakfast after sex, or we’ll get take-out, or... whatever we feel like.”

For so long, Luisa dreamed of this. Of getting to have a home and a life with Rose, of getting to spend more than stolen moments with the other. She is so ready to say goodbye to powdered sugar donuts as their go-to post-coital snack in favor of _whatever we feel like_.

She rests her head against Rose’s chest, eyes closing as Rose sways them slowly around.

If anyone had told ever told her one day she would be slow dancing in an empty kitchen with Rose, she would have had plenty of therapists to recommend them.

“This is nice,” Rose murmurs into her hair, grip tightening around her.

Luisa tips her head up and plants a chaste kiss against her girlfriend’s cheek. “We should definitely get a radio, so we can do this more often.”

* * *

**DAY FOUR**

* * *

“These are heavy.” Luisa rolls up the sleeves of her sweatshirt and curls her fingers once more around the handles of the buckets of paint. Then she just about manages to lug them through their living room and into the bed room.

It’s not an overly crazy color they picked, a red less vibrant than the hair she still misses—Rose is strawberry blonde now, which is better than dark brown, but Luisa won’t be fully, one-hundred percent, completely happy until it’s back to the sinful red of the devil. Because that is totally the name of Rose’s hair color in paint form at the hardware store where they got their Peach Delight.

Peach is a good color for a bed room though. Luisa knows—she has been in many bed rooms.

“My strong girlfriend,” Rose chirps from across the room, where she’s kneeling to finish off on spreading plastic across their nice, wooden floor.

Luisa wouldn’t trust herself either not to spill. She just might do it on purpose because she has always been the type of person to draw outside the lines, to see beyond the limits of the paper.

She never came home clean from kindergarten on days where they’d gotten to paint. It was ‘her thing’.

With the tip of her tongue pressed into the corner of her mouth and her eyes squinted, she shoved a screwdriver beneath the lid of the can and pried it open with the precision of a former surgeon and the force of a couch potato.

She really should think about getting in shape again.

Or have more sex.

When she looks up from her incredibly important task, eyes land on patches of bare, freckled skin. Rose has her arms stretched upward to tie her hair together and her shirt rides up.

Luisa bites her lip and shakes her head. Before, any excuse would have been good enough to press Rose up against the wall and have her way. But while she has half a mind to, she also knows they have the rest of forever.

And they really should get the house painted so they can have their furniture delivered.

Why Rose didn’t just hire a team of guys to do it for them is beyond her, but who is she to question the mastermind?

“Can I use the roll-y thing?” she asks as she joins Rose by the wall with the window, the opened can of paint in her hands. “I’m not as good with a brush as you.”

Rose kisses her gently on the forehead. “Of course.”

Luisa waits until they’ve put the first coat on every wall before she showcases the talent for finger painting that got her into trouble with her teacher so often.

* * *

**DAY EIGHT**

* * *

The first days are impressions of light and sound, of the ability to breathe after having been under water for too long. On the first-week-anniversary, Luisa doesn't feel like she's playing a role in a play anymore, although it still doesn't feel entirely  _real_ yet.

But being acknowledged by other people helps.

“Hey there, strangers.” The guy looks kind enough, even if she can see from a mile away that his tan is mostly fake and his teeth are definitely unnaturally white. "Can we help you with that?"

Another guy pops up, smile shining just as bright but the rest of him less  _made_ than his companion.

Luisa is only too happy to have two more pairs of hands to help lift their heavy couch into their house. The pivoting it through narrow doorways becomes much easier that way.

They all fall onto the plushy cushions as soon as it is situated in their living room, of which the walls are adorned with an intricate paint pattern and a few roses here and there that the guys seem to appreciate.

"We've been meaning to drop by," one says as he slings an arm over the back rest of the couch and turns sideways. "And extend an invitation to the yard party we're throwing this Saturday."

"What he means to say is, 'hi, I'm Kyle, your neighbor, welcome to the neighborhood'," the other corrects, but there is fondness behind his words that Rose and Luisa can recognize easily. When you're in love, it's not difficult to spot other people who are. "And I'm Andrew. We're to your left, the ones with the hydrangeas."

Luisa is a hugger, so she climbs over Rose's lap to do so. "I'm Luisa. This is my girlfriend, Rose. It's so nice to meet you guys!" She can't help but be  _extra_ ecstatic, because this was why she wanted to move to a city instead of to an island: people.  _Friends_.

Friends who will never know them any other way than belonging together.

"So tell us about the party. We will be there  _for sure_."

* * *

**DAY TWENTY-ONE**

* * *

Their house stops being shiny and new—it takes only fifteen days before Luisa breaks her first glass. They get settled into the San Francisco rhythm. They buy bikes to get around the city—Luisa falls during their first ride.

Life happens.

"You've gone running with Andrew every morning this week," Luisa says over the rim of her glass of orange juice, which she is sipping from slowly while scrolling through a website listing volunteering positions in the Bay Area. "Looks like you're making a friend, babe."

"You think so?" Rose sounds breathless, which makes sense since she just got back from one of those morning runs, but she also sounds just a bit happier than she wants to let on. Luisa knows her girlfriend though, knows how to read her like a book.

"Definitely. C'mere." She leans up over the kitchen counter and kisses Rose chastely, before swiveling around and hopping off her bar stool. "Anyways, I'm going to apply for jobs today. Wish me luck."

Rose did not want her to, and they had a fight about it, and surprisingly enough Luisa won. Winning fights from her former lawyer girlfriend is about the hardest thing to do if she doesn't allow herself to cheat, but just because they have the money doesn't mean she wants to sit around at home all day.

She has had three weeks of that—and enough for a lifetime of it after losing her license.

So volunteering somewhere seemed like a good place to start.

Clutching her phone in one hand, her purse in the other, Luisa steps outside, ready to conquer the world one small step at a time.

* * *

  **DAY THIRTY-SIX**

* * *

"You will love her, okay?" Luisa squeezes Rose's hand and casts her what she hopes to be a comforting smile. They're standing in front of her work place; a small building with a wide window sporting several stickers and allowing a good look inside.

Rose doesn't look very happy to be lead here under false pretenses.

"Lu..."

"Just  _trust_ me. Can you do that?"

When Rose nods, Luisa doesn't waste any more time and drags the other woman inside. The bell rings, alerting workers and animals alike. Her favorite girl in the whole wide world, girlfriend not included of course, bounds right up to her.

Watson has a bad leg that causes her to limp a little, but it's her having bitten a child that leaves her stuck at the shelter, even if she is the most  _adorable_ thing Luisa has ever seen. She scoops the puppy up in her arms and lets it lick her face before she all but shoves the French Bulldog's wrinkly, squished little face right into Rose's. "Look. At. Her!"

"You find  _this_ cute?"

Luisa gasps—a loud, resounding noise pushed out of a perfectly o-shaped mouth. She folds her hands over the puppy's big, upstanding ears and frowns. "How can you  _say_ that? She is a precious soul and I want to take her home."

Rose runs a hand through her hair. It's either a sign of frustration or one of impending resignation. Luisa knows just what to do to drive it home, too, even if it's just a little bit manipulative.

One look into Watson's beady, warm eyes is enough to convince her that it'll be worth it.

"I don't think she deserves to have to spend the rest of her life here because she was bad before. Doesn't she deserve a second chance and a happy home?" Luisa looks up at her girlfriend with eyes similar to the puppy's, bottom lip jutting out just a little. "Please?"

Rose grits her teeth, flicks her gaze back and forth between puppy and might-as-well-be-a-puppy. "Fine," she grits out. "But on one condition. You're resigning."

"What? Why?"

"One dog. If you stay here, you're going to keep wanting more."

Luisa clutches Watson to her chest, who takes that as another great opportunity to drag a textured tongue up against her throat. "Okay. Deal."

* * *

**MONTH FOUR**

* * *

It's not always sunshine and rainbows and puppies. Sometimes they fight. Rose picks fights about how much Luisa puts herself out there, how much of their story she's baring. If their neighbors were any more curious, they would figure out so fast who they actually are. How unnecessary it is for them to work.

And Luisa, although she tries to, although her shaman has advised her to try and give it all a place, in return brings up that she won't live off crime money if she can't cleanse her guilty conscience through helping people.

They never get too ugly or too loud, but they happen.

And when Luisa thinks about it, curled up in bed with Watson's soft fur against her cheek and her god-awful snoring filling the silence, she is just a little glad that they do.

Because no couple is happy  _all the time_.

It's natural. It's real.

Luisa might hate the feeling she gets after fights, but she is also blessed to know that they'll make up soon.

And shove Watson out of the room after.

* * *

**MONTH SIX**

* * *

"To half a year of having Rose and Luisa at number nine!"

All their neighbors - except Bethany from number four who couldn't make it - are holding up glasses and toasting to them.

Rose hugs Luisa hard from behind, Luisa leans back against her, and they don't even need to look at each other to know they're happy.

They are in their backyard, sprawled across the grass, enjoying the sun and the food and the virgin margaritas.

"I always hoped we could have a life like this," Luisa says when regular chatter picks back up and they're paid less attention to. She curls her fingers through the gaps between Rose's resting atop her stomach.

"This is all I've ever wanted for us." Rose kisses the back of her head and sighs. "I'm sorry it took me so long to give it to you."

"Hey, that's okay. We just took the long way around."

It's quiet for a long time. Luisa makes Kyle hand her a bowl of cherry tomatoes and is munching on one when Rose finally speaks again.

It is a whisper, and the words are: "I'm so in love with you."

"I love you too."

* * *

**...**

* * *

One day she wakes up next to the love of her life and the happily ever after no longer feels like she's still dreaming. There are pristine white sheets on the bed that they share, a snoring and drooling puppy curled between their knees, and a calendar against the wall scribbled full of things they're going to do.

They have friends, and Luisa has co-workers, and everyone knows about them.

Luisa smiles as she feels Rose stir beside her. "Let's stay in today," she whispers, hand tracing Rose's jaw line before disappearing into dark red springy curls.

Rose sleepily presses herself harder against Luisa. "Best plan ever."

Luisa has never thought she could feel this uncomplicatedly happy. But she doesn't mind being proven wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
